Before heading on the watch tower, the sight of three corpses caught his attention.
He told Dima to collect them the night before.
'I still have some time,'
Slowly, he reached out, testing for any blessing—like with the dwarves.
Nothing.
'Worth a shot,' he muttered, walking back to the watchtower.
The sun was still climbing up the sky.
Light poured over the dusty road in front of the compound, making long shadows stretch across the cracked earth.
Ten figures stood outside the wall.
Not one looked friendly. They wore old gear—mismatched armor, faded jackets, and belts stacked with knives and bullets.
These weren't regular scavengers. They looked like a squad built for causing trouble.
One stepped forward. Tall, scar over his cheek, rifle on his shoulder.
"We're looking for our crew," his eyes scanned the compound. "They came through here, led by my wife. Haven't heard from them since."
